


Eidolon

by wanderlight (Aoftheis)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood is thicker than water, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Hogwarts Express, Marauders' Era, Platform 9 3/4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoftheis/pseuds/wanderlight
Summary: ei·do·lon: n.; a phantom, an apparition; an image of an ideal.The last time Regulus saw his brother was on Platform 9 and 3/4.





	Eidolon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Omniocular](http://omniocular.livejournal.com)'s August Deathly Hallows Challenge. Prompt #19: _The last time Sirius ever saw Regulus_.

He watched the light from the overhead lamps reflect on his polished shoes each time he took a step. An old game he and Sirius used to play: _don't step on any of the tile lines_. Small, precise steps, one, two, three. He didn't look up. He had never been much good in crowds -- always small for his age, he felt they choked him. Too many voices and things to deal with at once.

No. Focus. The Plan.

He thought of it with a capital letter in his mind -- the Plan. The steps were not concrete but the goal was. _Get Sorted into Gryffindor so that Sirius likes me again._ Only then could he become part of the daring escapades that Sirius told of constantly during summer and winter hols. And if he had to pay the price of enduring the Howlers and icy words at family dinners, like Sirius had, then so be it.

"Pay attention," Sirius snapped, glancing back at him for the first time. "Get ready to board, we're here."

Regulus looked up and blinked. There were steps here; a press of bodies; the shiny exterior of a train (still, but humming with mechanical life). His hand snaked out to grab the back of Sirius' coat, so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd.

Sirius pushed his way onto the train without looking back and wrested his coat from Regulus' fist the moment they stepped off the platform.

A noisy corridor, more bumping and jostling and voices as Regulus looked down at his feet and soothed his nerves with the knowledge of what he'd do at Hogwarts. Meet these James and Remus and Peter people, and get them to like him; maybe then Sirius would like him again, too. He wouldn't be a hassle, or an annoyance, and then they would like him in his own right, and Sirius would tell stories about _him_ \--

Sirius turned to the left, and Regulus followed instinctively. When his knees bumped a half-closed door he glanced up, startled, and as Sirius slipped into the compartment Regulus saw a flash of faces -- three of them, bright, smiling, laughing.

"Sorry," Sirius said, no apology in his eyes, "only room for four."

The compartment door slammed shut.

*

That had been the last time Regulus had seen _his_ brother, _his_ Sirius, the one who'd taught him how to hold a wand in his tiny fist. Regulus didn't see that boy again after the Sorting Hat on his head said, uncertainly, "Slytherin," but he kept the memory of him locked away in the back of his mind, where not even _Crucio_ could touch it.

The last time Regulus saw Sirius (or, the almost-stranger who wore Sirius' name like a cloak) was on Platform 9 and 3/4, at the end of Sirius' seventh year.

Paths have a way of colliding in the corridors of Hogwarts, and they'd tripped a few times in their complicated dance of never being in the same room at once, but they hadn't exchanged a word in months. Regulus didn't know where Sirius could be reached after Hogwarts; the coward in him whispered that if he asked, Sirius would never tell him. So he trailed Sirius down the crowded corridor of the Hogwarts Express, staying out of sight like it was second nature. He let the possibility of an encounter stretch out until the very last minute.

Sirius stepped off the train, and Regulus reached out and caught the sleeve of his robe.

The look in his brother's eyes didn't betray a desperate wish to utter a final warning -- an invisible string of words, connecting two brothers to each other the way a bloodline was supposed to. It didn't say _yes_ , or _no_ , or _I don't know what to say, Regulus_ , or even _what have you done_. (When he re-sketched the scene in his mind, afterwards, Regulus realised Sirius hadn't even had enough time to register who'd grabbed his sleeve.)

A moment later: the crowd surged, Regulus' fingers slipped, and Sirius turned away.

*

Now, Regulus sees Sirius everywhere.

At midnight, after a flurry of exchanged hexes, when the air is a labyrinth of blazing afterimages and his dark-haired opponent Apparates away (this memory seen from behind a steel mask). A familiar set of shoulders turning the corner of a crowded London street and disappearing. In the grey eyes of the man he can't bring himself to _Avada Kedavra_ , on his sixteenth birthday.

And every time he catches his own reflection in a mirror or window-pane: dark hair; grey eyes; shadows of the man Regulus might have been in the hollow of each sharp cheekbone. 

They're nothing more than phantoms: apparitions his mind produces because it can't let go, even though he and Sirius are dug into trenches opposite each other on the front line of war. Sirius might have renounced the Black family tree years ago, but as brothers they shared the same dust and playthings for years, and they still share the same blood.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, I'm about seven years late in uploading all of my fic to the AO3. Better late than never? I miss fandom — come say hi @aoftheis on [twitter](http://twitter.com/aoftheis/) or [tumblr](http://aoftheis.tumblr.com).


End file.
